


Keep the fucking lights on

by runphoebe



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Kink Exploration, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-22 07:25:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17055671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runphoebe/pseuds/runphoebe
Summary: Jonny wakes up first, a foot away from Patrick on the bed and tangled in the sheets he'd kicked off in the night. Patrick in his sleep is a mostly unremarkable thing. His hair is a few weeks overdue for a haircut, just a shade too long, and he's snoring softly, mouth open and drool gathering on the pillow beneath him.Jonny would go to the ends of the Earth with him. He would kill and die with him. He has gotten into really ill-advised brawls at rec-league volleyball tournaments with him. When Jonny thinks about the enormity of all that, everything else pales in comparison.





	Keep the fucking lights on

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very different fic than I thought I'd be writing when I started it over two years ago. Over time, the dynamics and kinks that I prefer for this pairing have change significantly, and that is reflected in this fic, which is much more of a relationship/kink exploration fic than a true daddy kink fic. Tbh the daddy kink features pretty mildly lmfao, whoops. Just heed the tags to determine if it's the daddy kink fic for you. Basically, this is an established relationship in which they are equal partners on equal footing, so the daddy kink is definitely just a 'kink' and not a 'lifestyle'. I know mileage varies for this.
> 
> Just for some context since I sort of plop you down in the middle of this universe with no explanations: in this world, Jonny is a line cook at a dive-y kinda restaurant and Patrick is the FOH shift supervisor at a brunch place. Jonny's 27 and Patrick is 25. 
> 
> I hope that you like it, because it's a fic I've been wanting to write/finish for a long time. 
> 
> The title is from Drew Barrymore by Bryce Vine because while I'm sure there are other songs in existence, they are meaningless to me.

**_i._ **

 

There’s always an edge of desperation to it when they fuck. It’s usually cut through with this easiness between them, grinning when they kiss and their mouths meet half an inch off center, laughter when Jonny accidentally coats his dick with half a bottle of lube, so slick he can barely get a grip on it to get it inside Patrick, but every kiss and every thrust still leaves Jonny desperately wanting in a way he’s never been with anyone else.

At moments like this, though, there’s no humor to balance the urgency. It’s early fall and Jonny likes to fuck with the windows open, let the room flood with remainders of sticky September humidity and those hints of crispness tinging the air, and he likes the late night dissonance of emergency sirens and car alarms and the thrumming bass of his neighbor’s shitty EDM.

Patrick’s drunk, and his breath’s sweet with tequila and lime when Jonny captures his lips in a filthy imitation of a kiss. Jonny’s palms slip against the back of Patrick’s thighs when he pushes them further toward Patrick’s shoulders to leverage himself deeper in his tight asshole, wet as fuck around Jonny’s bare cock. He practically lifts Patrick’s ass from the bed as he gets his knees under him and spreads Patrick’s thighs to the limits of his flexibility, continuing his dirty-wet slide inside.

Patrick reaches between them to hold his leaking cock against his belly until Jonny grunts and sweeps it away. Patrick’s mouth falls open in surprise, but his body goes pliantly limp beneath Jonny’s when Jonny says, “Wanna see you come on my dick tonight, man, c’mon.”

“Fuck, Jonny,” Patrick moans. His mouth has the edge of a smirk to it and Jonny thinks he can feel the charged air between them, the weightiness of it and how the intensity’s been kicked into overdrive. Patrick widens his legs and brings Jonny’s hand up to mouth at his fingers, sucking on his thumb until Jonny can’t stop himself from thrusting even harder into Patrick’s ass.

“Jesus, Kaner, fuck me,” Jonny whines. “Being so fucking good for me right now.”  

It can be hit or miss with Patrick when Jonny says shit like that, depending on what kind of mood he's in. Tonight he stares at Jonny, curious and a little testing, and his ass tightens minutely, mouth falling open to reveal the glistening pink surface of his tongue. “ _Daddy_ ,” Patrick rasps after a fraught moment between them, voice softly familiar with the word like he’s experimented with it frequently in his head, intimate in a way that makes a shudder roll through Jonny’s body. “Daddy,  _daddy_ , _please_.”

And, oh,  _fuck_ , Jonny suddenly feels moments away from pouring his come out where the head of his cock’s buried just inside Patrick’s rim. He’s never - they’ve never - and Patrick’s drunk off his face, letting Jonny fuck him like a fucking train wreck and calling him _daddy_ while a hot flush bleeds down the skin of his throat. Jonny doesn’t have a clue where this is coming from, but it’s clear that Patrick’s considered it, whether abstractly or directly in relation to Jonny. Jonny doesn’t know, but he hopes - jesus, he hopes - he doesn’t even _know_ . This isn’t something - they don’t _do_ this.

“ _God_ , Pat,” Jonny groans, biceps suddenly straining under his weight as his cock swells with blood. The stiflingly humid air fills Jonny’s lungs with a heaviness. His breath evades him, heartbeat thundering madly in his ears, a dull roar that nearly drowns Patrick out when he reaches for him and says, “Daddy, _please_.”

“ _Peeks_ ,” Jonny gasps, letting himself be tugged into Patrick’s arms, flattening himself over Patrick’s body until they’re separated only by the lift of Jonny’s hips when he pulls just barely out, grinding in deeply against Patrick’s prostate. Patrick’s knees are pushed up around his shoulders but he seems pleased to be blanketed by Jonny’s weight despite the slick slip of sweat gathering in the small, caught spaces between their bodies. Jonny can no longer differentiate his own pulse from Patrick’s.

“C’mon, daddy, I wanna - make me come, daddy, I wanna come on your dick,” Patrick groans, wriggling beneath Jonny until he gets that spot inside him that’s just right. “ _Please_ , daddy.”

Patrick gets like this sometimes, all caught up in the intensity of everything he feels and carrying Jonny with him. Jonny pulls away briefly to look at him, all bitten-red lips and a high flush to his cheeks and shorn off curls matting to his forehead in sweaty clumps. He’s very beautiful to Jonny. “Let me feel it, babe,” Jonny tells him. “Fuck, Pat, you look so good.”

“God, Taze,” Patrick cries, and that’s more of a punch to the gut than anything, hearing Patrick’s deep, fucked out voice calling his name as he gets rhythmically tighter around Jonny, cock pouring out come wet and hot between their bellies. He can feel Patrick’s cock glide through it as Jonny thrusts into him. “Fuck, fuck, I want - _kiss me_ , I want -”

“Yeah, babe,” Jonny cuts him off on an exhale, covering Patrick’s mouth with his own and kissing him sloppy wet, heady with the tequila he can taste on Patrick’s breath. Patrick’s legs settle limply on the bed and it shifts the angle of Jonny’s cock in him so he’s thrusting shallowly into the clutch of his hole. That’s more than enough, that tight, concentrated pressure on the head of his cock, and after a few moments, he’s burying his face in Patrick’s throat as he spills inside him.

“Goddamn,” he groans, lifting Patrick’s legs just a little to get it in deep. “Okay, okay, sorry, baby, sorry,” he murmurs when Patrick winces a little, oversensitive, and drops his legs back down, pulling out carefully. Patrick’s stomach is a mess with his own come and his hole’s pushing out Jonny’s, spreading it sticky-wet between the tender soft skin of his inner thighs. Jonny kicks around the bottom of the bed until he finds one of their t-shirts and drags it up with his toes, cursorily wiping up Patrick’s stomach and legs.

“‘Zat my shirt?” Patrick mutters sleepily. His eyes are closed, but his forehead’s all preemptively knotted up in anticipation of tomorrow’s hangover migraine. Tequila makes him wild, but it gets him good the next day.

Jonny looks at the shirt. It’s Patrick’s. “No,” he lies, tossing it on the floor and settling in next to Patrick, hand warm on his still-damp belly. He’s too lazy to shut the window and turn on the AC unit so it’s really too hot for contact like this, but he slings a leg over Patrick’s thighs anyway.

“Liar,” Patrick says, easy, grin tugging the corner of his mouth and voice edging into sleep. Breath settled and steady like he hasn’t just rocked Jonny’s world with his drunk-ass sex talk. Jonny’s exhausted; it’s Friday night and he’s got a double shift tomorrow. He needs to turn off his mind and sleep, but every time he closes his eyes, all he can hear is Patrick’s voice whining to him in a constant refrain: _daddy, daddy,_ please _, daddy_ , and it’s driving him insane. Christ, he’s not nearly as drunk as Patrick, but he’s too drunk for this shit.

“Work tomorrow?” Jonny asks before Patrick has a chance to slip fully into sleep. He reaches for his phone to set an alarm.

Patrick hums. “Yeah. Early. Set it for four.”

“Kay.” Jonny kisses the wrinkle of his forehead as he lays back down. “Love you.”

“Love you, Jon,” Patrick answers, like he does every night, and falls asleep.  

*

“Tazerrrr,” Patrick yells across their apartment when Jonny walks in the front door. It’s almost one am but the room is bumping, and Jonny has to shout to be heard when he says hi back. Duncan and Brent are playing beer pong with some girls Jonny’s never seen before, and there are a bunch of people from Patrick’s work that Jonny only vaguely knows scattered around. Patrick’s on the couch with Nick, methodically rolling a joint on top of a textbook from the Intro to Accounting class Jonny took at the community college last semester. “Where you been, man?”

“Had a double,” Jonny explains, walking over to the couch. His kitchen is down a couple line cooks right now, which means a lot of doubles and a lot of working shitty line stations he hasn’t been on since he got hired there six years ago. “I’m so fucking beat.”

Patrick hums sympathetically, holding the finished joint in Jonny’s direction. “You wanna partake?” he asks, tossing Jonny his lighter. Jonny catches it reflexively, but his gaze is caught on the gentle curve of Patrick’s mouth and the way his shoulders stretch the seams of one of Jonny’s old shirts. It’s the first time he’s seen Patrick since last night and he can think of nothing but Patrick’s voice in his ear, calling him _daddy_ , begging - “Taze?”

“Need to get out of these clothes first.” Jonny shrugs, tossing the lighter back to Patrick. He’s still in his grimy work clothes and he smells like old grease and stove cleaner, plus he’s a little afraid he’s going to pop a stiffy in front of about a dozen of their closest friends.

“Yeah, you do,” Patrick leers.

“Oh my God, don’t hog the weed if you’re just going to sit there and flirt with your boyfriend,” Nick says, snatching the joint and lighter from Patrick’s hand.

Jonny ruffles Nick’s hair as he walks past him. “Don’t take it out on Kaner just because your girlfriend went to grad school out of state.”

“Ugh, get the fuck off.” Nick swats his hand away. “Don’t take it out on my hair just because you have a bald spot that looks like my grandpa’s.”

“Hey!” Patrick says, affronted on Jonny’s behalf, but Jonny just smiles and flips Nick off, heading for his and Patrick’s bedroom so he can shower off his day. He’s running the water when he hears the bedroom door open, filtering in a muted din from the party happening outside. He’s not surprised that Patrick followed him in since it’s not often that he lets Jonny get naked without at least making his presence known.

“Damn, Toews, starting without me?” Patrick says, scanning the length of Jonny’s exposed body. He still has his underwear on, but the rest of his clothes are in a heap on the floor, and he can feel his skin flush with pleasure at how Patrick looks at him. They’ve been fucking for four years and dating for three, but Patrick has this way of making him feel like he’s always looking at Jonny’s body for the first time.  

“You were with your friends,” Jonny says, tugging his underwear down his thighs. His dick is a little chubbed up already from the attention. “Not every shower has to be an invitation.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” Patrick says, pulling his t-shirt over his head. His clavicles are littered with the remnants of last night’s fuck. Like a dream, Jonny remembers it with a startling clarity but in an out-of-body way, like it didn’t happen to him or maybe he just imagined the whole thing. Patrick doesn’t seem to be losing his mind over what he did or didn’t say last night in bed with Jonny. “Because to me, it sounded like you said, ‘Kaner, I’ve had a long day, please come eat my ass in the shower to make it all better’.”

Jonny laughs, startled and so pleased, the way he always is with Patrick. He pulls him in close with a finger in his belt loop. “You’ve got quite the knack for subtext,” he says, popping the button on his jeans. Patrick pushes them and his boxers down and off his legs, kicking them over towards Jonny’s pile of discarded clothes.

“Yeah, lucky you,” he says, close to Jonny’s mouth. Their bare cocks are touching now, not all the way hard but getting there with the sticky pull of precome leaking between them. Patrick’s hand wanders across the width of Jonny’s ass, fingers dipping between his cheeks. He knows Jonny’s body like his own. He handles it with the familiarity of so many years between them, but the reverence of a lover exploring it for the first time. It really gets Jonny good.

“C’mon, we’re wasting hot water,” Jonny finally says.

“Well, you know what I want, Toews,” Patrick says, pulling away and slapping Jonny’s ass. It makes a satisfying crack. “Get in there and spread ‘em.”

Jonny sighs to himself because everything about Patrick is horrible, and the absolute worst part is that Jonny’s going to do exactly as he’s told.

*

“Come yell at me if we’re being too loud.” Patrick's lingering in the doorway after their shower, damp hair curling against his neck.

“Nah, I’m wiped.”

“Mmhmm,” Patrick says. “You just needed the Patrick Kane Special to knock you right out.”

“Oh, God,” Jonny grimaces. “Is the Patrick Kane Special supposed to be your tongue?”

Patrick puts his fingers up in a V around his mouth, sticking his tongue out between them and waggling it. His raises his eyebrows a few times in a way that he probably thinks is sexy or something.

“Get the fuck away from me,” Jonny says. Patrick barely ducks the pillow Jonny throws at him, laughing himself out of the room. It still amazes Jonny that this man who knows exactly how to push Jonny's buttons is also the lamest person on the planet. Of course, Jonny might be even worse for loving him so much.

Jonny sighs, rolling onto his back and staring up at the ceiling.

He hadn't been kidding when he told Patrick he was tired, but sleep feels a million miles away. He just feels like he's - waiting.

It's not like he expected to come home and have a play-by-play of what went down last night, complete with a thorough exploration of how it made them both feel, except - well, that's kind of exactly what he'd been expecting.

Jonny doesn’t consider himself sexually unadventurous, even if it usually is Patrick leading the way in bed.

He had been straight until he met Patrick, and then he wasn't anymore. He'd never had his ass fucked until Patrick slid his fingers across Jonny's hole during a blow job and asked if he wanted to give it a shot, and now getting dicked is one of his all time favorite activities. He didn't think he'd be into snowballing until Patrick pushed Jonny's own come into his mouth with his tongue.

At this point, Jonny lives for creating new lines in the sand just so Patrick can cross them.

He doesn't know what it is about this time that's eating at him. So what if Patrick wants to call him daddy while Jonny's dick is in his ass? He's always been into being bossed around every once in a while when he's in the right mood, even if it’s more Jonny’s thing.

“God,” Jonny says out loud, suddenly annoyed as hell with himself. “Get it the fuck together.”

He's going to. He's going to get it the fuck together. He's going to get eight hours of sleep, go kill it at the gym, and then probably have great sex with his boyfriend. If Patrick wants to pretend it didn't happen, Jonny can too.

Eventually it's just going to be a distant memory.

 

**_ii._ **

 

After their rec league volleyball team wins the fall season semis, they all go over to Sharpy’s apartment and get way too toasted on coconut rum Alex stole from his mother’s pantry. Coconut rum, Jonny thinks, is probably the devil's drink because an hour ago he was sipping a bright blue concoction that tasted vaguely of sunscreen and now he's strongly considering dry-humping Patrick on Sharpy's couch in front of like, ten people.

Patrick isn't excessively into PDA, and Jonny respects that, and Brent is sitting between them on the couch, and Jonny also respects that, but that doesn't mean he's not thinking about it. He's definitely, definitely thinking about it.

“God,” Sharpy says. He's on his back on the floor, holding the handle of rum upside down over his face. It’s empty except for one stray drop that he catches in his open mouth. “We killed that. This is gonna be the worst fucking hangover.”

“It’s because of all the sugar,” Duncan says sagely, which, like, duh. Everyone knows that.

“I haven’t had that much coconut rum since college,” Ryan says.

Patrick chucks his lighter at Ryan's head. “You did _not_ go to college.”

“I went to _a_ college,” Ryan shrugs. “For a college party, with a lot of naked chicks and coconut rum.”

“Clearly I went to the wrong school,” Nick says. Patrick laughs at him. He's so gorgeous when he laughs, but especially in moments like this when he's on the wrong side of tipsy and he feels every emotion with his whole body.

“I’m strongly considering dry-humping Kaner on the couch right now,” Jonny announces because, well. Patrick deserves to be rewarded for being that beautiful.

He's met with a chorus of groans. “Please never say those words in that order ever again,” Brent says, extricating himself from between them for his own safety.

“No promises.” Jonny shrugs, looking over at Patrick. He's quiet, but there's a smile creeping at the corners of his lips. Jonny learned a long time ago that Patrick tucks his feelings in close around people who aren't Jonny, and Jonny really, really likes that, but he also savors these far between moments where Patrick lets emotion bleed out like he just can't keep it all in.

“God, Kaner, what is your face even doing?” Nick asks.

Alex rolls to his feet from where he’s been lying on the floor. “I'm pretty sure that's our cue to get the fuck out of here before they jump each other.”

“Copy that,” Duncan says, standing up and gathering his things. “Good game tonight, boys.”

The rest of them head out with a chorus of farewells, stumbling into the hallway of Sharpy’s building.

Sharpy gets off the floor and settles himself between Jonny and Patrick on the couch, tossing an arm over each of their shoulders. “Just the three of us, eh? How should we celebrate our victory, boys?”

Patrick snorts. “You could never handle this, Sharpy,” he says, patting Sharpy’s thigh. “Like, look, I know you think you could handle this, but you could never. In a million years.”

“Got a high maintenance ass, Peeks?”

“My ass is pretty chill, but Tazer over here needs a finer touch than you could ever give him.” Patrick shoots Jonny a look, grinning with this affectionate softness that makes Jonny’s heart clench. He’s over there talking about Jonny’s delicate ass and Jonny’s still so in love with him.

“That’s no surprise,” Sharpy says. “Okay, kids. I’m packing it in, too. If I ask you not to fuck in my guest bedroom, will you respect it?”

“Oh, no, we’re definitely fucking in your guest bedroom,” Patrick says. “No doubt.”

“We’ll make the bed after,” Jonny adds helpfully.

“We probably won't do that,” Patrick says with a shrug. “Just being honest.”

Sharpy shakes his head. “Just don't get me a noise complaint,” he says. “That's how low my standards are for you.”

“Bye, Sharpy,” Jonny says loudly, standing up and tugging Patrick along with him. He laughs at Jonny when Jonny slams the door behind them and shoves Patrick against it, fumbling along the wall for a light switch. There's something beautiful in the openness on Patrick's face, and the unreserved way he smiles, only with Jonny and only when they're alone.

“You're drunk,” Patrick says fondly, running his fingers over the shell of Jonny's ear. Jonny shivers, leaning into it.

“You too,” he says, because Patrick's not acting rowdy or anything, but his consonants are softened and his eyelids heavy in a way that belies his calmness.

Patrick bites his lip. “Yeah,” he agrees. “What are you gonna do about it, Jonny?”

Jonny groans, shifting restlessly against Patrick. His hard cock grinds against Patrick's lower abdomen. He could get off easy like this, with just the muscled plane of Patrick's stomach beneath him.

“What do you want me to do?” Jonny asks.

It sends a spark through Jonny's body when Patrick leans up to whisper in his ear, “After the way you played tonight? Anything you want, daddy. You can do anything you want.”

And _God._ Jonny is too fucking drunk for this, or maybe he's just drunk enough. His head is a tangle of warring emotions: concern for Patrick's apparent newfound daddy issues, humiliation over his own body’s reaction, and absolute bone-deep arousal. They feed off each other until Jonny feels like he’s one giant anxiety spiral with a really hard dick.

“Anything I want?” Jonny repeats. The words feel clunky in his mouth. He and Patrick are no stranger to dirty talk, but this feels foreign to him. “What if I want you to suck my dick?”

The way Patrick bites his lip should be illegal. His movements are all lazy with alcohol, half a step slow and so deliberate. “When have I ever said no to sucking your dick?” He reaches between them to palm Jonny's erection.

“What if I wanna suck yours?” Jonny asks, because it's what he's been thinking about all night, and just because Patrick called him daddy isn't going to make him want to throw Patrick down on the bed and fuck his mouth.

Patrick smirks slowly, squeezing Jonny's dick. “Even better.”

He steps away from Jonny, tugging his shirt over his head and kicking off his shoes. His pants and underwear follow quickly, and by the time he’s sitting on the edge of Sharpy's guest bed, he's completely naked. The sight of his bare body is something Jonny hopes he never gets used to. Even with years of exposure, he finds himself overcome by the solidity of his torso, the golden dusting of hair across his legs, the ripple of tendon through his forearms. His compact strength is so evident in the lines of his musculature.

“C’mon,” Patrick says, propping himself on his elbows and stroking his hard dick. “Suck me, daddy.”

Jonny really hopes Sharpy can't hear them through his thin walls, because the noise he lets out is beyond humiliating. He kneels over Patrick, knees on the floor, and knocks his hand away from his cock so he can replace it with his own, covering the head with his mouth.

“Oh, yeah, Jonny. That's it,” Patrick rasps, feather-light fingertips skating across Jonny's cheek. “God, you're good.”

That always makes Jonny feel like hot fucking shit. The magnitude of Patrick’s attention focused on him, the gentleness of his touch at odds with the harsh stretch of his dick in Jonny’s mouth, the salt-sweaty taste of him. It’s overwhelming even when Jonny’s not drunk enough to make the room spin.

He loses track of time as he sucks Patrick’s cock. It passes in increments, measured by Patrick’s bitten off gasps. Jonny could go on like this forever, but he still wants more from Patrick.

“Hey,” he says, nudging Patrick's leg. There’s a string of saliva suspended between his lip and Patrick’s cock. “Roll over.”

“Hell yeah, man,” Patrick says, eyes wide. It’s satisfying as fuck to know that Jonny can still surprise him sometimes. He rolls easy onto his stomach, resting his head on his folded arms when he settles back down. For no particular reason, Jonny doesn’t do this to Patrick as often as Patrick does it to him. When he spreads his cheeks apart, he’s reminded of how much he likes it. Patrick’s hole is softly pink and shaved clean, an expanse of baby-soft skin that Jonny traces with his lips. His stubble scrapes along Patrick’s cheeks, catching roughly in all his tender, vulnerable places. The noise Patrick makes when Jonny follows it with his tongue is addictive.

“Please, daddy,” Patrick groans, rolling his ass toward Jonny’s mouth. Jonny’s head swims, cloudy with want.

“What do you want, Kaner?” he asks, thumbs spreading his hole open wide. It’s something that Jonny likes when Patrick’s playing with his ass - that cool burst of air against the delicate skin and knowing that Patrick’s staring at him there. Based on the way Patrick grinds his dick into the mattress, Jonny thinks he likes it too.

“Your mouth,” Patrick says. “Gimme your mouth.”

Maybe if Jonny were better at this, he’d make Patrick beg a little longer. Instead, he presses his mouth to Patrick’s asshole, flattening his tongue against it in a way that makes Patrick grind his hips back toward the pressure. It’s hot as hell, but their rhythms are all out of sync; Jonny wants a minute to just get in there good.

“Wait, hold still, hold still,” Jonny gasps, holding Patrick’s back down with his arms. It doesn’t matter that he and Patrick both know that he could break out of Jonny’s hold if he wanted to because he doesn’t even try. “Good, Peeks,” Jonny says. “That’s good. Lemme eat you out.”

Patrick doesn’t comment on the shakiness of Jonny’s voice. He’s pretty fucking gone. Maybe he doesn’t notice it. “Fuck, daddy, _yeah_ ,” he says, reaching back around to spread his own ass for Jonny. “Show me what you want. You can just take it, I already told you.”

Jonny has to squeeze his own dick to take the edge off. “Jesus Christ,” he murmurs, slurred, before he goes back in, tonguing Patrick open with an urgency he can't hide. It's heady and powerful like this: on his knees for Patrick while Patrick's on his stomach for him.

He eats Patrick out until his jaw aches and then slips two fingers inside, hauling Patrick up on his knees so he can get the angle right. They don't have lube and Patrick's not into being fucked with spit the way Jonny is so Jonny's not getting his dick in him tonight, but it's easy to slip it into the hot clench of his thighs and just rock there while his fingers nail Patrick's prostate. He can tell Patrick's jacking himself off.

“Oh shit, oh fuck, _Jonny_ , I'm about to - I'm gonna come,” Patrick whines, and Jonny feels him lock up tight around his fingers, body fluttering rhythmically as his hand squeezes his orgasm out of himself and onto the comforter beneath him. He winces when Jonny pulls his fingers out. “Keep going, man, I'm good,” Patrick says when Jonny's hips stutter and stop.

Jonny hesitates. “I - can you -,” he starts. Patrick glances at him over his shoulder. Whatever he sees on Jonny's face makes him sit up.

“Hey.” He maneuvers Jonny until he's lying flat on his back. He drags his fingers through the pool of come on the bed and presses them against Jonny's lips. It tastes salty on his tongue. “Whatever you want, daddy. You already ate my ass so good.”

Jonny doesn't have to ask for it though. Patrick ducks to take Jonny's dick in his mouth and slips his fingers in Jonny's dry hole. They're slick with spit and the filmy remnants of Patrick's come.

“Oh, God,” Jonny cries. His hips fly off the bed, but Patrick takes it, cock buried halfway down his throat. “I'm not gonna - this is not gonna take long, holy fuck.”

Patrick hums and presses his thumb against Jonny's ballsack. There's no way Sharpy can't hear ah-ah-ahs that fall out of him unbidden as he crests his orgasm, coming down Patrick's throat, but Jonny doesn't give a shit. Maybe he'll find the brain power to care about that tomorrow.

“Your ass, Taze, Jesus.” Patrick pulls his fingers out and flops onto his back, far away from his come stain. “Fuck, that was good.”

“It’s always good.”

Patrick looks over at Jonny, reaching for his hand. “It is always good, baby,” he agrees. “It’s always so fucking good.”

_Fuck_. Jonny just can’t figure out Patrick’s endgame here. Jonny has always loved the easy give and take of their relationship, but right now he doesn’t know what Patrick’s giving him.

The last thing Jonny wants is to be having an emotional crisis in Sharpy’s guest bedroom, but - well. That’s just where Jonny is with his life, and what Sharpy will never, ever find out won’t kill him.

*

For two weeks, everything stays the same. Jonny goes to work. He goes to the gym. He cooks Patrick dinner on his nights off, and they fuck a lot in the shower and the kitchen table and the couch and their bed. Jonny carries the volleyball team through to the championship and Patrick congratulates him with the blow job of his life. He doesn't call him daddy once.

“Hey, do you think you could get some time off in January?” Patrick asks one night while they're sitting next to each other in bed. He's playing solitaire on his phone and wearing Jonny's reading glasses.

“Sure. What for?”

“My parents are dying for us to visit,” Patrick says.

That stops Jonny short. He likes Patrick's parents a lot, but how is he supposed to look Patrick's dad in the eye when Patrick's been hopping on his dick and calling him daddy.

“Jonny?”

“Oh, yeah, no,” Jonny starts. “For sure. Count on it. It'll be good.” He gives Patrick a thumbs up just in case.

Patrick gives him a look. “Okay?” he says. “You cool, dude?”

“I'm cool,” Jonny promises. “I'm so cool.”

Except that Patrick's new fetish is ruining Jonny's life in more ways than he even knew.

 

**_iii._ **

 

_Maybe_ , Jonny thinks one day while he and Patrick are in line at Starbucks, _maybe what Patrick is really looking for is a sugar daddy._

It makes a lot of sense, in Jonny's opinion. They're both deadass broke by the end of each paycheck and Jonny's pretty sure sugar daddies are kind of en vogue right now.

It also doesn't make a lot of sense since Jonny earns like, $0.75 more per hour than Patrick, but he's pretty good at managing his money, so. _Maybe_.

“Do you, uh,” Jonny says awkwardly, reaching for his wallet. “Do you want me to get that?”

Patrick looks at him funny. “No?” he says, handing the cashier his debit card. “You didn't even get anything, dude.”

Well, then.

_Maybe not._

 

**_iv._ **

 

All the pretenses come crashing down around Jonny when neither of them are drunk when it happens again. It’s weeks later, and far enough removed from the last time that Jonny’s mostly stopped thinking about it whenever he’s got Patrick’s body beneath his or Patrick’s voice whispering filthy sweet nothings in his ear.

Patrick normally crashes out on the couch for a few hours after an opening shift, but today he comes home wired, strung through with this tension that Jonny can feel buzzing just beneath his skin. Jonny has a shift in a few hours and he really wanted to hit the gym first, but he’s never going to say no to Patrick shoving him backwards on the couch so he can straddle his lap and grind into him all dirty and fast.

“Hey, slow down a minute,” Jonny says when Patrick reaches for the hem of his sweatpants. It’s not like Jonny’s opposed to a quick fuck, but he’s still half-baked from the bowl he smoked that morning and it feels like all these sensations are hitting him on a second-long delay. He reaches up to cup Patrick’s cheek in his hand, thumb skirting over the curve of his lip. Patrick’s eyes flutter shut.

“What’s wrong, Jonny?” Patrick asks. There’s an edge to his voice, quiet and dangerous in a way nobody ever expects from Patrick. “You not feeling it?”

Jonny huffs, grinding up so Patrick can feel the drag of his hardening cock against his balls. Patrick likes to dig at him like this, sometimes, like he wants to make Jonny snap. Sometimes Jonny does. “Is this a race or something?” he asks.

Patrick snorts. He strokes his own cock through his pants a few times. “I'm just wondering when you’re gonna catch up.”

“Just slow down a minute,” Jonny says again, irritation clawing in his chest. “You're not gonna bully me into fucking you.”

Patrick narrows his eyes at Jonny to let him know how unimpressed he is by that, pulling back just a little so most of his weight is on his shins and not Jonny’s lap. Jonny misses it instinctively. “Yeah, fuck off, Jonathan.”

Jonny grits his teeth. “I don’t care if you don’t want to talk about your shitty day,” he says, sliding his hands up the back of Patrick’s shirt. His skin is warm and soft. Patrick carries a strength in his back that Jonny can never get enough of. “But slow the fuck down. Just give me a second.”

It takes a moment, but Patrick softens. “Sorry, dude,” he says, a little bitten off at the end. “It was a shitty fucking day.”

“That sucks,” Jonny says, slipping Patrick's shirt over his head. His thick traps flex as he lifts and lowers his arms. Patrick stands quickly to rid himself of his pants and boxers before settling back on Jonny's lap, naked and on his way to being hard.

If Patrick’s having a bad day, it’s either his family giving him shit or his manager at work giving him shit, and either way he’ll talk about it when he’s ready. For now, Jonny is fine with coping mechanisms of the physical variety.

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees with a shiver. It's the first really cool day of fall and Jonny left the windows open. His bare skin is dotted with goosebumps, nipples peaked from the chill. Jonny has to lean down and take one between his teeth. Patrick used to have one pierced, a product of his misspent youth he always said, but it was an inconvenience more than anything so eventually he’d taken it out. Jonny misses it sometimes.

“Kinky, Taze,” Patrick moans when Jonny bites down hard. His hips shift restlessly in Jonny’s lap. “Warn a guy.”

Jonny lets go of Patrick’s nipple. It’s indented softly with a bite mark. “That shit won’t work with me,” he says, positioning his thigh so it grinds up against Patrick’s cock. Patrick laughs around a gasp. “I know what you’re like in the bedroom.”

“You calling me dirty?” he asks, reaching between them to tug on his dick a few times. “That’s fair I guess.”

“You guess.”

“I mean, I did teach you everything you know.” He lets his head roll back when Jonny leans up to suck on his neck. His hands are dangerously tight on Jonny's biceps. “You were probably just giving all the girls good missionary fucks before I came along.”

It's the kind of thing that would've gotten under Jonny's skin a few years ago. Now it just makes him laugh. “Thank God you showed up to teach me about doggy style.”

“Oh, Jonny, baby, don't sell yourself short,” Patrick says. Jonny's fingers are digging into his ass cheeks, just skirting his hole. Jonny thinks he'd take two fingers easy like this, spread wide open over Jonny's lap. “You're worth so much more than that now.”

“Yeah?” Jonny asks. He's mostly focused on his fingertip sinking into Patrick's body. He doesn't always get into ass-worship the way Patrick does with him, but he thinks he could do this for hours.

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees, voice heady. “Like letting me give you baller rimjobs. And blowing me that one time in Sharpy's bathroom without locking the door.”

“Damn, I do sound kinky,” Jonny agrees, lifting his fingers to his mouth to wet them. Patrick watches him with hooded eyes. They go in smooth when Jonny presses them back against his rim, slick with his spit.

“Kinky enough to let me call you daddy while I ride your fingers?” Patrick asks. “Oh, _god_ ,” he cries when Jonny angles his fingertips against Patrick's prostate. It's just automatic, an instinctive reaction to years of memorizing the landscape of Patrick's body. Even as it feels like the world's falling down around him, his hands remember how to please Patrick.

“ _God_ , Kaner,” Jonny says back, rocking up to find some friction for his dick. He'd been riding a half-chub pretty much since Patrick sat on his lap, but he's suddenly hard as nails, aching for contact in his sweatpants. His skin is aflame anywhere it touches Patrick's. “God, I'm sorry, I need to - I have to put my dick in you.”

Patrick's already reaching for the coffee table behind him, opening the drawer where they store the spare lube. It's been found by every single one of their friends and most members of their families, but it's too useful to move. “Yeah, c'mon, fuck me,” he says, tugging Jonny's dick out of his pants and coating it with lube. His hand is a sticky mess when he buries it in the short hair at the base of Jonny's neck. “Fuck me, daddy.”

“Are you trying to fucking kill me?” Jonny asks when Patrick sinks down all the way on his cock. He's barely been stretched and he can't take a cock like Jonny, but he's not acting like it hurts.

“You don't like it?” Patrick asks. He's moving slow on Jonny's dick, but there's genuine concern etched across his face. Jonny doesn't even know how to answer that question, but he does know he doesn't want Patrick to stop. “Tell me to stop, Jonny.”

Jonny could. He could, and Patrick would listen. It would be so easy to end this right now and Jonny thinks they’d be okay. They’ve been through worse and come out on top every single time.

“Tell me to stop.”

It’s a split-second decision, formed in the silent space between one breath and the next. Too quick for Jonny to question himself.

“Come on, babe,” Jonny says, catching Patrick’s jaw in his palm. His pulse is pounding wildly. For a moment, nothing exists except each point of contact between them and the anticipatory breath caught in Patrick’s chest. “You gonna show daddy how good you can ride a dick?”

And then it's out there.

Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe - Jonny doesn’t know. But he likes the noise Patrick makes after he says it, and he likes the sticky pull of Patrick’s asshole on his bare cock, and he likes the way Patrick leans down to whisper in his ear, “daddy, you already know I’m gonna ride your dick till you pass out.”

Maybe it’s a mistake. Maybe Jonny’s fucked up for liking it.

He doesn’t know.

*

Jonny was twenty-three and straight the first time he met Patrick at a rec league volleyball game.

Patrick was twenty-one, with longer hair and smaller shoulders and a one bedroom apartment he shared with three other guys. He worked forty hours a week at Starbucks and another twenty stocking shelves at a grocery store on third shift.

He joined the volleyball team to meet people. He had no family in Chicago and no friends and no boyfriend.

“Well,” Patrick said, shrugging. “I had one of those. He's why I'm here. I sort of followed him. But he turned out to be an asshole, so.”

It was a month before Patrick was sending Jonny pictures of his dick over Snapchat. Another two weeks before Jonny was sucking it, crammed in the tiny bathroom in Patrick's apartment, knees aching against the linoleum floor.

Patrick just had this way with him, from the very beginning. He knew how to take what he wanted from Jonny. He knew how to make it something Jonny wanted too. He knew how to make Jonny crave things he didn't even know he was missing.

And it's like - Patrick is just a guy. Reasonably, he doesn't possess any magical powers to make people fall at his feet, but somewhere along the way Jonny didn't get the memo. He was twenty-three and straight, and then he was twenty-four and in love with a man and falling under Patrick's spell over and over and over.

He was silly to think that this time ever would have been any different.

 

**_v._ **

 

The morning after the last time feels like the climax of something.

Jonny wakes up first, a foot away from Patrick on the bed and tangled in the sheets he'd kicked off in the night. Patrick in his sleep is a mostly unremarkable thing. His hair is a few weeks overdue for a haircut, just a shade too long, and he's snoring softly, mouth open and drool gathering on the pillow beneath him.

Jonny would go to the ends of the Earth with him. He would kill and die with him. He _has_ gotten into really ill-advised brawls at rec-league volleyball tournaments with him. When Jonny thinks about the enormity of all that, everything else pales in comparison.

It isn't long before Patrick starts to stir.

“Stop poking me,” he grunts, knocking Jonny's hand away from his ribcage. Okay, so maybe Jonny helped along his awakening just a little, but Patrick usually sleeps in until nine-thirty or ten when they have a morning off together and it's only eight o'clock now. He was getting impatient.

“You must've been imagining that.”

Patrick rolls onto his side to face Jonny and cups his cheek in his hand. His fingers are calloused from years of working in a kitchen and they catch in the two-day stubble on Jonny's jawline. “You're a terrible liar, Jonathan Toews.”

Jonny kisses his thumb when it skates over his lips, then his mouth when Patrick leans in close. The sound of their tongues sliding together is filthy in the quiet room. “Only with you,” he says, pressed softly against Patrick's lips.

“Mmm,” Patrick says. When Jonny pulls back a little, his eyes are closed and his hair is poofing out in a frizzy halo around his head. “That makes me feel some kinda way.”

“I know,” Jonny agrees. “I'm so fuckin’ romantic.”

“I still remember the first thing you said to me.” He pauses for something like dramatic effect. “‘ _Your registration fee is two days past due.That’s gonna be a twenty-five dollar late charge before you’re allowed to play._ ’”

“That really got you good, didn’t it?” Jonny asks, sliding a hand down the curve of Patrick’s spine. He feels so close to him like this: miles of bare skin in contact and sinking into the mattress indentations they’ve shaped over the years.

Patrick kisses Jonny’s jaw. “Oh yeah, man. Been hooked on you ever since.”

It’s almost too easy to fall into a slow, lazy makeout after that because there aren’t more than centimeters between them and Jonny’s mouth just has this bad habit of attaching itself to Patrick’s.

“Hey Patrick?” he says after a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

Patrick hums. “Go for it.” He’s shifting his hips lazily against Jonny’s thigh, dick starting to swell in his worn cotton boxer briefs.

“Where did the daddy thing come from?” It comes out easy, like it’s not something he’s been angsting over in his head for weeks, wondering when it was the right time to ask and trying to figure out how.

Patrick grins a little, but it's a soft, gentle thing. There's nothing mocking in it. “I've been wondering how long it would take you to ask.”

“I don't - listen, you know I don't care what you're into,” Jonny says hurriedly. “But you've never said anything about it before. I just wanna know.”

For a moment, Patrick presses his lips against Jonny's throat. It's a familiar comfort. “I don't say anything about a lot of things that I'm into until I want to try them. Why is this so different?”

Jonny shakes his head. “I don't know,” he says honestly. Patrick is still moving against him and Jonny can feel a damp warmth from his briefs against his thigh, which means that for whatever reason, Patrick is turned on by this. Either the conversation or the contact between them is enough to make his dick leak. “Have you been harboring secret daddy issues that you never told me about?”

“Oh man,” Patrick laughs. “You’ve really been freaking out about this. You're gonna be so disappointed when I tell you, Taze.”

“Just tell me, then.”

Patrick looks at him a little conspiratorially. “Honestly?” he shrugs. “I just think it's hot.”

Jonny groans. “Stop.”

“I’m serious, Jonny,” Patrick says. “Look at you. You're aging like a fine wine. You turned into a total daddy sometime this past year and I'm into it.”

“Oh my God,” Jonny says weakly, because he doesn't even know what the fuck that means. A flush is spilling down his chest, either from embarrassment or arousal or some combination of the two.

“It's not like I want it all the time. We don't even have to do it at all if you don't like it,” Patrick says. Jonny studies his face and can't find a hint of dishonesty. He's always been comfortable with asking for what he wants from Jonny and dropping it when it isn’t working. “It's really not a thing, baby.”

“I do like it,” Jonny admits, which is maybe the hardest part. “But I don't know why.”

In a graceful movement, Patrick rolls on top of him, fitting himself between the vee of Jonny's thighs. The layers of underwear between them feel stifling, so Jonny reaches down to pull out his cock and then does the same with Patrick's. The first brush of skin on skin is electric. All these years and that hasn't changed.

“God, Jonny, you really don't?” Patrick asks. His thighs flex as he thrusts slowly against Jonny. If Jonny could find the lube discarded somewhere in their sheets, he'd let Patrick put that big dick in him right now. “You don't know why you like fucking my ass while I'm calling you daddy?”

“ _Jesus_. I didn't think I was into that freaky shit,” Jonny says, tilting his head back so Patrick can mouth at his neck.

“I got news for you, Toews: you're into a lot of freaky shit, but this ain't it,” Patrick says.

“It's not?” Jonny asks.

“Nah, man. It just feels good. It's just hot.” Patrick sits back on his knees for a moment so he can slide Jonny's boxers the rest of the way down his legs, tossing them to the side. Jonny bends his knees and lets his legs fall back open on either side of Patrick, pleased with the unsuppressed moan of pleasure it elicits. Patrick's fingertips slide up the length of Jonny's thighs before they come to rest on his ass cheeks, holding them apart just slightly. “God, I gotta get in there, Tazer.”

“Yeah, Jesus, find the lube,” Jonny says, suddenly desperate for it. Patrick shakes out the sheets until a bottle of astroglide topples onto Jonny's belly, grinning with his tongue between his teeth as he pops the lid and coats his fingers.

“Don't you think it would be hot?” Patrick asks, picking up the thread of a conversation that Jonny has long since abandoned. At the same moment, he slips two slick fingers inside Jonny's asshole, slow but unyielding. Patrick when he’s on top is always like this: careful, measured, and constant.

“Don't I think what would be hot?” Jonny asks, and it comes out on a moan as Patrick brushes over his prostate. If he's not careful, he's going to make Jonny come.

“Calling _me_ daddy. Maybe while you're on my fingers like this,” Patrick murmurs, relentless against Jonny's prostate. Jonny's dick is leaking thick, clear drops of fluid and Patrick leans down to take the head into his mouth, sucking him clean. “I could be your daddy, Taze.”

And Patrick's not wrong because that's hot as  _fuck_. “Holy shit,” Jonny says weakly. The onslaught of Patrick's words and his touch is too much.

“Y _eah_ ,” Patrick says. His voice is even deeper than normal and tangled with emotion. “It doesn't mean anything fucked up. It's just hot.”

“You're fucking hot,” Jonny says, because whatever it is about this that's working for Patrick, Jonny _knows_ what’s working for him and it's just _Patrick_. If Patrick wants to call him daddy or if he wants to be Jonny's daddy, it's never going to matter in the heat of the moment like this because Jonny's always going to like it. He's always going to want it.

“Hey, c'mere,” Patrick says, sitting back on his heels and urging Jonny up. Jonny knows what he wants, swinging a leg over his lap and settling with the tip of Patrick's dick flaring open his hole. It's nice like this, close enough for their chests and stomachs to brush together, mouths open against each other in a heated attempt at a kiss. It resonates in Jonny's bones when Patrick groans at the feel of Jonny sinking onto his cock.

“Oh, shit,” Jonny says when Patrick thrusts up a little. It's more of a grind than anything at this angle, just a sinuous motion of all the places on Jonny that feel good against all the places on Patrick that feel good.

“Fuck yeah,” Patrick breathes. “Hey Jonny. You know what?”

Jonny hums half-heartedly in response, entirely focused on the stretch of Patrick's cock in his ass.

“I know I try a lot of weird shit in bed,” he continues, pausing for a moment to suck on Jonny's neck. “But at the end of the day, it's just you. Okay? I don't care if you wanna fuck to Marvin Gaye with the lights off. I'd be down.”

“Me too,” Jonny says. He cries out as Patrick grabs his hips, holding him still and fucking in hard. “I really don't want that, though.”

Patrick laughs, breathless. “Fuck, I'm gonna come,” he says, tucking his face into the curve of Jonny's throat. His forehead slips on the sweaty skin as he pumps his hips a few more times before groaning and stilling, cock buried deep inside Jonny.

_There is nothing better than this_ , Jonny thinks when Patrick wraps his hand around his cock. There's nothing better than being able to laugh with someone as they carry you over the edge of something so vast, and always coming out together on the other side.

*

“Hey,” Jonny says a few hours later. They're still in bed and still naked because they have no obligations and nowhere to be. “You know who's really a dad?”

Patrick looks up from where he's sucking lazy bruises into the tender skin of Jonny's inner thigh. “Are you the expert now?” he asks, biting down hard enough to make Jonny flinch.

“Sharpy is. He totally is,” Jonny continues, ignoring Patrick.

“Ehhhh,” Patrick hedges.

“Oh, come on. Anyone who wears that many cowl-neck sweaters is begging to be called daddy.”

Patrick grins and moves up to nuzzle Jonny's stomach. His dick is soft since they've gotten off three times in four hours, but the attention still feels nice. “He’s too much of a princess,” Patrick says. “I think you're sleeping on Seabs, anyway.”

“Oh, shit,” Jonny says. “You're right.”

“I know,” Patrick shrugs. “I told him one night when I was trashed. I think he's still in therapy for it.”

“Is it your goal to traumatize everyone with your daddy issues?” Jonny asks, dragging Patrick up and flipping them over so he's bracketing Patrick's body with his own.

Patrick laughs, pulling Jonny in close. “Just you, baby,” he says to Jonny. “Only ever you.”

And Jonny really, really likes the sound of that.

 

**_+1_ **

 

It's easier when Jonny stops looking for an explanation.

Sometimes Patrick calls Jonny daddy because he thinks it's hot. Sometimes Jonny does it, too.

It isn’t fucked up.

It's really not a thing.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and indulging me! 
> 
> Come hang out with me on [tumblr](runphoebe.tumblr.com) , or for more regular appearances [twitter](https://twitter.com/runphoebe1) .


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